His voice went on. "I must wait here till dark, you see. Then I go upriver, and avoid the public fern.."
"They would catch you!'
He arched one eyebrow and looked amused. "Come here and sit down."
He guided her over to the bench that ran around the sides of the octagonal room. But she stood. So Barney bowed. "You are the most natural—and beautiful—lady I've ever seen, madam, bar none. Will you sit, please?" He grinned, and set her down.
Douglass could hardly believe that he was sitting down too, alongside of her, as though he hadn't been labeled the most dangerous prisoner in England, and as if even now they wouldn't be printing reward notices for him, to be nailed on every available post. But he was sitting down, and stretching out his long legs.
"Your leg is bleeding," she cried, and made a dive for the hem of her dress which she lifted to reveal a slim length of silk stocking and six inches of lace petticoat. Barney leaned over and looked.
"Entrancing," he said.
"I'll rip off a little," she said, her head bent way over so her voice floated up to him. .
"A handkerchief will do," he said, very amused.
She straightened up. She saw he was laughing. She regarded him solemnly. Then she handed him her handkerchief.
Barney bent over and rolled down his sock. He tied the handkerchief tight around the gash in his leg, and rolled the sock back up. "I was caught in the Channel. I jumped for a ship's boat, and hit my leg. I landed down here about two miles. . . . Now suppose you tell me who you are, so that the next time we meet—"
"The next time we meet?" she interrupted. She heaved a long sigh. "My name is Harris. My husband was a Yankee."
"Was?"
"He is dead."
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"And you unmatched," said Barney. "What else? How old are you?"
"Twenty," she said.
She sat forward on the bench, throwing glances out the lattice to the lengthening shadows outside. Then she blurted, "Your crutches!"
"A ruse to allow me a measure of freedom."
She turned to look at him. "Oh," she whispered.
"Sit back. There's nothing to be afraid of, here. Tell me how you know about this Belgian packet. From where does she sail?"
"Southampton." She saw that this was very important. "On Thursday I'm taking it," she said. "I go to meet Joshua Harris, in Brussels."
"Joshua Harris?" he exclaimed. He looked pleased. "That makes me think of home. How do you know Joshua Harris?"
She said, "He's my brother-in-law."
He nodded. "I know now. You are the English girl James Harris married a week before he was killed in that hunting accident. It was two years ago."
"Yes," said Douglass, simply. Then she asked, "Do you know Joshua?"
Barney shook his head. "I know his name, and I've probably seen him in a coffee house, but I've never met him."
Douglass regarded him sideways, this hero of the picture, truly sitting beside her, and suddenly she smiled, a quick delighted smile. "You're famous." She went right on, fast. "Is it true that Marie Antoinette threw her arms around you and kissed you?"
He grinned. "Yes."
She nodded, as if to say that was true, then. "They say you never went to school and that you went to sea when you were nine."
He turned toward her a little. "I went to school, madam—went to sea when I was twelve."
"So did many of our most famous captains," Douglass said.
Barney said, "Please, for the love of God, do not compare me to a captain in the Royal Navy."
He got to his feet and went over to the door. It was almost dark. He swung around and looked across to her. "I must leave you now."
He had opened the door; it creaked a little. Then he turned and came over to her. She extended her hand.
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He took it in his big one; she felt his strong fingers grasp hers. Then he bent to kiss it. Slowly she pulled her hand away from his.
"I'll see you on the packet," he said.
Her black lashes swept up and she looked up at him. "You will?"
"Yes. Goodnight."
He was gone, then. She watched his figure disappear. She sat still, unmoving, looking toward the river and the little landing. The lights on ihe boats twinkled on the blackness of the water.
She thought she sat there for more than ten minutes. Then she saw the light of a small craft pull near the landing; she heard the squealing of the pigs that must be its cargo. She got up and went softly out the door, and down to the landing. It was empty. Up the river she saw the lights and heard, growing dimmer, the pig squeals in the distance.
Chapter 4
IT WAS AN ALLEY WITH NO NAME. Three blocks from the Cuttewater, it ran at right angles from a comer between two disreputable pubs. It was only thirty feet long and boasted eight houses.
In the attic of the house second from the comer Barney was dressing. It was night and he had been here for two days. For forty-eight hours he had hidden here.
The attic was a single room, stretching away to corners deep in gloom. Two men slept on a pile of rags in one corner. They would waken soon for their night's work, but now, at seven, they slept deeply.
A man was assisting Barney with his dressing, holding a piece of cracked jagged mirror so he could adjust his neatly clubbed and powdered hair.
"You look like a toff, Guvnor," the man said, and grinned.
Barney was squinting at the piece of mirror. "If you had asked for some sober clothes from the Reverend Winslow or Dr. Hindman, Willie, I would have taken you with me as my servant."
Willie looked at the back of the mirror. "They couldn't get me no clothes."
Barney abandoned the wig momentarily and looked straight at
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Willie. "You're lying," he said, and started to adjust the wig again. "Hand me the hat, Willie."
Willie did so. "I ain't lying."
"The devil you're not."
Willie grinned.
"When the war is over, and I'm in port here, come aboard and see me, Willie. I'll give you a good flogging. Free. That is, if His Majesty's Navy doesn't get you first."
At the thought Willie groaned aloud. Barney held out a single guinea. Willie took it in his dirty hand. Then Barney said:
"Thank you for taking me in, Will. You ran a risk."
Willie shook his head from side to side. He was outside the law, accustomed to risks.
"And if you need help, go to Reverend Winslow. He might be able to save not only a portion of your miserable soul, but perhaps your neck."
"If he'll help a Yankee, I guess he'd help me." Willie's eyes twinkled impudently in his dirty face.
He followed Barney to the top of the twisting attic stairs. Then he bethought himself and ran back for the guttering candle, holding it so Barney could see. Willie could travel those stairs, steep and broken as they were, in the pitch dark, but Barney had ascended them only once, and descended never. He had stayed here, hidden from the hue and cry that was going on after him. Willie stood at the top of the steps. Willie felt impelled to whisper, as he saw Barney going down slowly from him:
"Be careful, Guvnor! They've got the soldiers out for you!"
Barney turned. He had assumed an expression between a grimace and a pucker. "How does this look?" he asked. "I'm pulling my mouth to larboard."
Willie said seriously, "Like you was a perishing gent who smelled somethin'."
Barney laughed. "That is how I'll look on the coach. Will. Goodbye."
Willie murmured, "Good luck." Then he repeated it. "Good luck, sir." His hand, holding the candle, was trembling a little. Then Barney was gone. Willie ran to the broken window to lean out and see him emerge into the street below. Willie heaved a big sigh. "I hope they don't catch you," he muttered.
Fifteen minutes later Barney stepped elegantly into the Exeter